


Facing Fears

by grey2510



Series: Tumblr Prompts and Requests (SPN) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Kinda, Phobias, Post-Episode: s12e06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, Season/Series 12, father-daughter bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: How come Sam gets the easy jobs during hunts? Dean and Claire have to fix a witch's curse...at the top of a water tower.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kribban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kribban/gifts).



> Written for a Tumblr prompt: #19 “The paint’s supposed to go where?” -- requested by kribban

_Bzz. Bzz. Bzz._

Dean puts down his beer and the plate carrying his truly impressive sandwich—hot pastrami, swiss, thick-cut sourdough bread, all toasted up to perfection—and ignores Sam’s judgmental look as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He’s almost tempted not to answer because there’s no way it’s going to be good news, whoever is calling him. At best, it’ll be Cas calling to say he and Crowley are still out Lucifer-hunting, or Mom saying she’s coming back to the Bunker—and those are kind of weak bests. (And doesn’t he feel more than a little guilty about the latter...)

Resigned, he looks at his phone screen, and his stomach sinks a little. Claire.

_God, what shit has she gotten into now. She better be ok..._

“Claire?” he answers, hoping he doesn’t sound overly concerned.

“Heya, Dean,” Claire says, entirely too casually; the tone does little to mask the slight waver in her voice. “Soooo, town water—not supposed to be red, right?”

So much for the sandwich.

 

**

 

“Jesus, what is it with witches? Always fucking things up for everyone,” Dean grumbles as they drive to the cemetery of a one-stoplight town in northeastern Nebraska.

Then again, considering the problem at hand is water turning into blood, they should probably be relieved that it’s just the dying curse of a social pariah of a witch, and not a harbinger of the Apocalypse, Round Way-Too-Many.

“Isn’t that kind true for, I dunno, _everything_ we hunt?” Claire points out snidely from the backseat.

As Dean scowls, Sam chimes in, “Dean’s got a special place in his heart for witches.”

His brother's not wrong, but Dean chooses not to comment further. Outside the cemetery gates, he brings the Impala to a stop, and the three of them pile out of the car. Sam immediately opens up the trunk and starts grabbing a shovel, salt, and lighter fluid. Dean holds up his hands, one in a fist, one cupping the fist from beneath.

“Play ya for the salt and burn.”

Sam smirks, but agrees, putting the supplies on the ground by the Impala’s back tire.

 _1 2 3_ , their fists tap out against their palms. Dean throws rock—gotta change it up sometimes—and Sam throws paper.

“Goddammit.”

“Have fun with the water tower,” Sam grins, all too smugly.

Dean isn’t too fond of the similar look on the teen’s face, either. “What?” he snaps.

“Nothing,” Claire answers, then starts to follow Sam.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Claire turns, and raises an eyebrow. “Um, to salt and burn some bones?”

“Nuh uh. You’re with me. Water tower’s safer: if Henrietta’s spirit pops up, it’s gonna be at the grave, not at the water tower.” Truthfully, he doesn’t even like the idea of his brother handling it alone, but they need to fix the water ASAP before someone in town gets sick. Divide and conquer’s the only way to go.

“Play ya for it?” Claire tries, holding out her hands for rock-paper-scissors.

“No. Get in the car.” And with that, Dean stalks back towards the driver’s door. Thankfully, the teen follows suit with only mild grumbling. It’s one thing to lose rock-paper-scissors to Sam, but there’s no _way_ he’s losing to a nineteen year old.

  
  
**

 

“This is why I don’t camp. Or hike,” Claire complains as they fight their way through the underbrush on the poorly maintained access road leading up to the water tower.

“Overrated experience,” Dean agrees, thinking longingly of the Bunker’s water pressure (and the fact that the water there hasn’t turned into blood) and his bed’s memory foam (which is about a thousand times better than the plank masquerading as a mattress back at the motel).

They reach the water tower at last, its off-white paint almost glowing in the light of the nearly-full moon. It looms over them, and suddenly Dean feels very very small.

“Alright,” he says, shifting the weight of the cheap backpack where they’ve stashed a couple cans of paint and brushes, “now we just gotta paint a bunch of sigils up there, and presto, instant reverse curse box and clean water.”

Claire’s neck is craned up at the bulbous tank above them. “The paint’s supposed to go...where?”

If there was a slight waver in her voice when she first called him from her motel room, where she’d stopped on her way back to Sioux Falls after visiting Alex in college, then there’s a veritable earthquake in her voice now. The words practically squeak and crack coming out of her.

“Up on the tower..." Dean says slowly. “Hey, hey, Claire?” He softly snaps his fingers in front of her, and she rips her gaze away from the tower to focus on him, the whites of her eyes wide and round.

“So, uh, you don’t really need me to go up there, right? You got this. I’ll, uh, keep watch, ya know, in case anyone comes by, and—" she babbles.

“Claire, are you scared of heights?”

She scoffs and crosses her arms indignantly. “No.”

“Claire.” He gives her a stern look. “I’m gonna need another set of hands up there: it’s a complicated sigil and I can’t be trying to step back and check my work every two seconds. And we gotta paint it a few times, all around the tank.”

“It’s just..." She glances up, quickly, then mumbles, "...it’s higher than I thought.”

“Yeah. Not my idea of a party, either.” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he looks her dead in the eye. “You’re gonna be ok. I’ll be right behind you. I won’t let you fall.”

Swallowing, she nods, and heads towards the stairs—well, ladder is probably more accurate. Whatever, the evil stair-ladder demon hybrid. Dean might not be afraid of heights, exactly, but it’s not like he’s gonna go BASE jumping anytime soon, either.

The wind picks up as they ascend, and one gust makes the metal creak and them sway a little. Claire freezes, her hands tight on the rails.

“Dean..." she says, in nearly a whisper.

“It’s ok. Take a deep breath. You got this, kid.” His own grip is tight, and he can feel the muscles cramp a little. “Hey, tell me about your trip to see Alex. How’s she doing?”

“Really, Dean?! Now?!”

“Yes, now. Focus on that.”

Claire’s shoulders hunch in frustration, but finally they relax, and she says, “College is weird. Alex seems to like it, though. We hung out with her friends who all live down the hall. They’re alright. Kinda douchey, but whatever.”

One cautious Converse sneaker forward. Then another. Dean’s boots follow.

“She still running with the football crowd?”

“Kinda. I think a few of them are on the soccer team.”

“Huh.” Dean doesn’t have much more to contribute to that, and besides the wind is starting to whip their words away. He shivers under his canvas jacket and absently hopes that Claire’s warm enough now that they’re beyond the insulation of the treeline.

A few minutes later and they reach the top. Claire stands with her back to the tank, as far from the edge of the walkway as possible. Her eyes are closed while Dean approaches, and she’s breathing deeply through her nose.

“Claire?”

“Mhm, I’m ok,” she says, eyes still tightly shut.

“Hey, you did it. Toldja you could.”

Her eyes open, but they focus on her sneakers. “So much for trying to show you I’m not just a kid and can hunt.”

“Yeah, well, we all have shit we’re scared of. Sam’s faced down _Satan_ , but you put him within fifty feet of a clown..."

Claire huffs a small laugh, finally looking up at him. “How about you? Let me guess: music made in this century.”

“Says the one who went to a Radiohead concert.” Dean pulls an arm out from the backpack straps. The quicker they can get this done the better. He lets the bag fall to his feet, the paint cans clunking loudly on the walkway. “No, uh, flying. Not my thing.”

“Flying?” Claire gives him a look. “Really?”

Unzipping the bag, Dean takes out the cans and brushes, then hands a can to Claire. “Yeah, so what? Sam’s afraid of _clowns_.”

“Well, yeah, clowns are creepy. You know the odds of being in a plane crash are—"

“Giant metal cans aren’t supposed to go hurtling through the air, ok? And especially not with me in them!”

Claire laughs, and shuffles the paint can in her hand so she can accept and unfold the paper with the sigil drawn on it from Dean. He purposefully doesn’t point out that she’s standing closer to the railing than she was a minute ago and seems to have forgotten where she is and that she should be scared of it.

“Is this why you have a weird love affair with your car?”

"No!” Dean defends, maybe a little too quickly. With a screwdriver, he pries open the lid of his can of paint. “Don’t bring Baby into this. Now, c’mon, tell me where I gotta decorate.”

The banter only continues from there, and forty minutes later, and only one minor near-freak out later (from Claire only; Dean will deny to his dying day the unmanly screech he gave when the wind shook the tower just as he was stepping backwards to survey his work on the last sigil), Claire and Dean are back on blissfully-solid ground, making their way back to the Impala.

“Let’s never do that again, ok?” Dean says as he starts the car’s engine, taking comfort in the familiar purr. 

“No shit.” Claire breaths out and leans back into the leather of the passenger seat. The car rumbles down the road for a moment, and then she looks over to Dean. "Um, thanks, for back there."

"Any time." 

He ain't gonna let this kid fall.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fast, so apologies for any editing errors. I'll probably find a bunch tomorrow.
> 
> And kribban -- I had to write a Claire piece for you. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


End file.
